The Well
by DracoNunquamDormiens
Summary: James wakes up in a well, dark, cold, disoriented. But he's not alone.


A/N: I have no idea where this came from. I might accidentally be gakking it from someone whose fic I read, but I literally have no idea if I dreamt it, thought it up, or read something eerily similar and forgot to review it. In my defence, it appeared in my brain a few weeks ago, in the middle of the night, and I managed to jot down the essential bits of the plot of this here thing. If you gals and guys of the internets have read an older fic similar to this, please tell me so I can credit the author who inspired this.

Anyway. I hope you enjoy this little one-shot.

Happy Halloween!

* * *

**The Well**

* * *

It's black all around when James comes to, damp and wet and cold and so absolutely dark he wonders for an unknown amount of time if he's opened his eyes at all. He dismisses the thought, his years of battle training kicking in to assess the situation before he is even fully conscious. The first thing he notices is that he is lying on his back, vaguely aware that he is in a very weird position and he can't really feel his arms, or legs, or…

Anything, really.

Except for the warm weight pressing down on him. James doesn't question it yet, neither does he try to move right away; he is more concerned with trying to ascertain where he is, a little worried when he can't remember outright how he ended up… here. If he only could remember how he got here, he could decide whether or not to panic. Where was he before?

_"You should definitely be a Dalek this time," Sirius's voice is more cheerful than it's been in weeks. James remembers Godric's Hall, all decorated for Halloween, Lily's belly that's barely showing a hint of the life growing inside her. She's three months along, and when James looks at her, he thinks they're right, when they say pregnant women have a glow about them. She looks more gorgeous than ever, as she smiles and refuses to disguise herself as a dustbin with a plunger for an arm. _

_ "I said scary, Black. Not utterly ridiculous."_

_ Sirius, who has been waving these items around, laughs and shrugs and tells her she has no idea what she's talking about. _

_ "Daleks are _scary_, you've got no idea." He smirks mischievously, then adds, "Besides, it's the perfect costume for you, Lils—" He gestures around himself, miming a huge belly and sealing his fate. _

_ James can't stop laughing when Lily charms the plunger to Sirius's face and socks him one over the head with the dustbin. _

It's very silent around him, the quiet only broken by an occasional, distant dripping sound. It echoes ever so slightly, and James is suddenly under the impression he is in a cavern somewhere. James tries to make out his surroundings, but all he manages to see after a while are vague, slightly darker shapes nearby and a shapeless lump on top of him. Without his glasses, hell, without a lighting charm, he can't make out what they are.

And there's something tickling his nose.

Something that smells like the pear shampoo Sirius favours — his perfect, silky soft hair is the result of careful grooming and a source of endless teasing lately, since his secret was discovered. And it's up his nostrils, mixed with something else that makes his nose recoil whenever it wafts towards him.

He tries to move his head, first. It's not a good idea. His neck gives a sharp warning twinge, his left hand twitches in response, touches crumbling, sticky wet rock.

"James?" The voice is soft, quiet, but it travels easily to his ears. It also fills him with relief; he had been panicking in the background there. A bit. Not that he'll admit it to Sirius, who is clearly the lump on top of him, but he _had_ been close to screaming.

"S-Sirius." James's voice is a cracked, tiny sliver of sound. It surprises him how hard it is to form words. "Gerroff."

"Nope," is the flippant response. "I'm plugging a leak here. If I move…" Sirius's voice is every bit as steady as James's is tremulous. He sighs, the hair that was in his nose shifts a fraction. "You're badly hurt, Prongs. If I move, you'd cop it."

"Where…?"

"The floor caved in during the battle," Sirius explains. "I'm guessing we're somewhere below the oubliette level."

"The… what, now?"

Sirius chuckles. This sound, too, fills James with comfort. If he can still laugh, it's not so bad. It would be better if Sirius could budge, James feels something hard digging into his side.

"The raid, don't you remember?" Sirius asks, but it's a redundant question, so he just explains anyway. "We raided the Lord Thingy. Biggest operation since we had to get the Sphere of Terrible Doom that Succumbs to Potter Laundry Practises."

"Oh yeah," James says reminiscently. "When was that?"

"Before you got married," is the answer. "You weren't in that raid, because you were busy getting your arse handed to you by Regul—"

"I let my guard down for three seconds, drop it already." The response comes automatically, because he's never lived that particular embarrassment down. Like a stage play, Sirius snickers like a schoolboy. He doesn't, however, carry on the same vein. James is inwardly grateful.

"Well, this raid was bigger," he says instead. "It was worse." His tone has dropped an octave, and James squints, trying to make out his expression. He still can't see a thing. Sirius hasn't moved, still covering him warmly. If James weren't lying in a puddle of water, it would be even nicer. His toes have gone numb, too. Maybe one of his legs is broken.

"Worse how?" James whispers back.

"Prongs— we're the only ones left." It makes his blood run cold. James shivers despite himself. "But don't worry, Kingsley is looking for us. Nina is, too. They'll find us really soon, so just hold on, okay?"

James nods weakly. This too, comes with an enormous effort.

"You honestly don't remember?"

He doesn't. Sweet, merciful Merlin, he _doesn't_. And something tells him, he should. He must remember, he needs to, because— because— because it's important, because… gods, _why_?

_"So this trick-or-treating dealy, do we get to do it too?" he asks Lily, who had ended up disguising herself as Cleopatra. It was impossible not to lose his train of thought whenever he looked at her. She was stunning, her green eyes now lined with charcoal black, her hair done up Egyptian-style, magically dyed dark and straight, with a golden tiara that had sported a cobra's head for all of three seconds, until Sirius turned it into a stag's head without her noticing. _

_ "Sure, that's part the fun of it," Lily replies, oblivious to the prancing stag upon her head that mimics her every expression. "But the costume party in the town square is really what we want. Trick-or treating is for chil—" She glances at him, in his scarecrow costume, a pillowcase in hand and his expression fascinated, then at Sirius, who is wearing his hair charmed into curls and a floppy hat and an obscenely long, colourful scarf around his neck that flops this way and that as he goes around offering kids jelly babies from a never-empty baggy instead of asking for sweets. "Never mind," Lily finishes, "you two need to learn how this is done, for when our son is born— and no, we are not naming him Sirius or Copernillius."_

"James, wake up." There is the barest hint of urgency in Sirius's tone when James comes to again. He is beginning to shiver, and he wonders why he needs to stay awake, when he feels so tired.

"Where are we?"

"I told you. At the bottom of—"

"A well, right? There's water all over me."

"Yeah. A well. But just stay awake with me," Sirius tells him encouragingly. "Stay awake until they come and get us, all right? I'll keep you warm."

"Can't you use your wand?" James asks after a moment spent grasping at stray thoughts and ideas. It's funny, really, how hard it is to think of the obvious. There is movement, the faintest shadow in the pitch blackness. James feels Sirius shake his head against his chest.

"I've been trying to," Sirius admits. "I haven't managed to summon it. Maybe you can. Try it."

James does. He wiggles his fingers, which feel stiff and like they're doused in syrup, but neither his nor Sirius's wand fly towards them.

There's nothing for it: they have to wait for help to arrive.

"How did it happen?" James asks after a while. Sirius is quiet for a moment.

"They knew we were coming," he tells him. "They were ready. They outnumbered us, they had the place boobytrapped… They _knew_, James. But you…" Sirius hesitates for a moment. It's such an unusual thing to hear, James gives it more than passing notice. He finds himself curious. "You and I, mate. We kicked their arses. We _hurt_ the bastard, James. We really did."

"You're taking the piss."

"No. He's worse off than even you." There's unmistakable pride in Sirius's tone. "He won't bother anyone again. Can you really not remember?"

He can't. He _won't_, and Sirius can do a lot of things, but he can't force him. He can't make him remember.

"Can't _you_ shift?" James retorts instead. "There's something digging into my back, and—"

"No can do," Sirius answers. "I'm plugging a leak here, if you shift I don't know if you'll bleed to death or what. And then the Missus will have my head. I'm not risking it," he argues. "Besides, I need to keep you warm. Just hold on for a bit longer, they're looking for us, they're really looking, and they'll come get you out real soon."

"You said that already," James grumbles. "Like, ages ago."

"I solemnly swear, they'll be here soon."

The words have hardly left Sirius's mouth, when there's a cry that sounds like someone calling his name, from miles away.

"Call for them, James," Sirius tells him. James doesn't even wonder if 'they' are Death Eaters or not. He trusts Sirius instinctively, trusts his canine instincts above his own. So, without question, he opens his mouth, takes as deep a breath as he can—

"Potter? Black?" The voices sound closer now.

"It's Kingsley. We should have made a bet, I'd be a hundred G's richer," Sirius comments. He sounds sleepy now. James raises a leaden hand to give his shoulder a little shake. It's covered in sticky wet stuff too.

It suddenly occurs to James he has no idea if Sirius is hurt or not.

"Over—" James clears his throat, spits out something that feels like a coppery loogie. "OVER HERE!"

It's enough.

There's suddenly a confusion of echoing footfalls, yells, gasps and shocked little cries.

"I see them!" It's Janus.

"Someone bring Medi-Wizards here, on the double!" And that's Dumbledore. Wow, for the Hogwarts Head to leave the school without his particular brand of protection, this must be important.

"Sirius, you were right," James says, blinded by the sudden harsh light the cavern is bathed in. "It's Kingsley, and Dearborn, and Twinkle, the Wonder Professor. Look."

"I'm always right," is the expected answer, and James tries to laugh, but Sirius's weight against his torso won't let him. He feels heavier now, sounds sleepier.

There's cursing behind him, as Dumbledore arrives. He hears more than feels the diagnostic charms being cast. His attention is only on the bloodied figure lying on top of him. What he can see — and it isn't much, just an uncharacteristically matted, tangled shock of black hair— doesn't stir.

"'M fine," Sirius slurs against his chest. He can still read his mind, then. "I really am, James."

"What in the seven hells happened to you?" What little he can see of Sirius is covered in blood.

"There was this spell."

"You're such an idiot," James snorts, but it becomes a wince the next instant.

"James?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." It's a slur, so low he half can't hear it with the people trampling over, yelling at each other. It makes alarms ring out in his brain. "Tell your parents… Tell Nina… I'm sorry."

"What— what do you mean?" James asks, his stomach plummeting. There's no answer, and a sense of foreboding, of dread, fills him. "Sirius? _Sirius_! Pads! What do you mean? He— HEY! Help, please!"

"Oh gods— _Potter_." Janus Dearborn is kneeling by his side, his expression shocked. No, not shocked: he is horrified.

"Sirius," James insists. "He's badly hur— Sirius? Help him," he hears himself plead. Why isn't Janus moving? Why isn't Dumbledore? Hell, they're just staring. "He's not answering!"

"Sweet Merlin."

"Oh, Merlin— Sirius?" Marlene sounds broken as she skids to a halt next to them. "Oh, oh, oh." This is so _not_ the reaction James was expecting. He wants to yell at them to snap the fuck out of it, to help Sirius, don't they have eyes?

"He's still alive! Stop your gawking and get me stretchers over here! Blankets! Medi-wizards! _Now_!" Moody's voice is booming out, too loud to be allowed. It's also the only one that says what James wants to bellow at them all. "James, thank the gods. You're alive. When I saw— I didn't think— I thought you were both…" Moody is stammering. James gives him an uncomprehending look. He has never seen the old Auror so _flustered_. So upset.

"James, we need to lift him off, okay?" Marlene is in tears. James wishes she'd hurry the hell up and patch Sirius up before it's too late. "I'm so, so sorry, James. Oh, gods. I'm sorry."

They don't use magic to lift Sirius.

They have to pry his arms from around him, and suddenly the thing that was digging into his side is gone, still gripped in his brother's hand. He has no idea what could have snapped his wand, and he stares at it, fixes his eyes on it, because the rest is too much to bear.

But it's useless. James can suddenly _see_. He can see everything: They're not in a well. What he's fairly soaked in is not water. They're not in a cavern, either, but the ruins of a grand manor's hall, in a crater some thirty feet deep, surrounded by rubble, the ceiling half caved in on top of them.

And he can't _un_see as they lift Sirius off him. He is still wearing that ridiculous scarf, because when they were called in, there was no time to—

"Where's the rest of him?" he asks dumbly. Stupidly, but he can't help it. His brain has ground to a halt, his lungs refuse to fill, his world just tilts to a halt for an instant, before it shatters all around him.

All there is, is a mangled torso, deathly pale, lifeless eyes boring into his even as a spray of blood from James's own chest splatters against Sirius's expressionless face. He hadn't been lying; James would have bled to death if he hadn't plugged the hole Voldemort's spell created. If he hadn't caught the blast for him. If he hadn't—

Oh. _Gods_.

_No. No. No. No._ James can't accept it. He _won't_. _This isn't happening._

"Stay still James, we'll lift you up now. Thank Merlin you're alive—"

But James doesn't listen. He misses Sirius's weight on him, warm and comforting. He can't reconcile the mangled corpse they just lifted up off him, pale and cold and lifeless, with his best friend, who has been keeping him awake, warm, these past few… Minutes? Hours? How long has it been?

"H-H-He was… He was… He _just_—" James can't string words and thoughts together at the same time. All he can think of is, "A—a moment ago, he was still awake!"

"James—" Kingsley sounds most unlike himself as he transfers him to a stretcher. On another, Moody is covering Sirius with a blanket that quickly stains red. "James, that's just not possible."

_The blast rocks the ground, as spells criss-cross the air so thickly, he can't even see the casters. He doesn't care, though— Voldemort is backed against a corner, raising his wand and bringing it down in a slashing motion, twirling and flicking so fast, not even James's eyes can follow. He doesn't need to— Sirius knows the spell the bastard is using, and he is countering as fast as he can, giving James an opening to— _

_ "NOW!" they both yell, the most powerful spell in their arsenal leaving both their wands at the same time. _

_ It's a hit._

_ It's a hit, and it obliterates the entire half of the hall in front of them. James turns to look at Sirius, who is staring at the cloud of ash and fire that billows out, along with—_

_ The spell, a deadly electric blue line of power, is aimed straight at his chest. Sirius's eyes widen, he moves towards James, tackles him and sends him sprawling backwards. _

— Fin. R? R!


End file.
